All The Time It Takes To Hold It Right
by smc-27
Summary: Rachel/Jesse. "Her heart stops for just a moment. Then he smiles and it starts racing approximately 300 beats per minute, a rhythm no one could move to. She doesn't either. He walks to her."


She's been in New York over four years. It's hers. It's home. She owns it. She doesn't miss Lima.

She doesn't miss any of the boys she left there, not really.

(Especially not the one who left her first.)

.....

He broke what he had of her heart when she was 16.

It's hard to forget that kind of thing.

.....

Part of her, maybe that part of her that's always believed in fairytales just a little bit, has always wondered what was so good about L.A. anyway.

She goes for three days to visit Kurt (who would have thought he'd become one of her best friends?) and strongly dislikes everything about it.

New York just has something.

(L.A. has always had something else, some stupid, nagging feeling that he's there somewhere.)

.....

It was easy enough, breaking up with him. All it took was the admission that she wasn't Shelby's daughter, that it was all made up and Shelby intended to tell Rachel the day of Regionals to throw her off her game.

Jesse told her first, weeks before competition, claiming the guilt was eating at him, that he genuinely cared about her, that he couldn't do that to her and he didn't want to compete with Vocal Adrenaline, he wanted to compete with New Directions.

Rachel marched into practice the next day (after telling him in no uncertain terms that they were over) and had the group take it to a vote. Either Jesse stayed or she did. If Jesse stayed, she left. No arguments, no ultimatums, no talking her out of it.

No one even tried.

As of the next day, Jesse was no longer a student at William McKinley.

(They finally_ chose her_.)

.....

She's been waiting her whole life for this.

No. Not waiting.

Preparing.

It's not her dream role. Not by a long shot, actually, but it's a role. It's Broadway, and she's 22, and she's going to be a _star_.

No one will ever play Sophie like she will. And she's going to sing her heart out on these Abba songs.

She's been destined for this.

.....

When she saw him at Regionals, he was wearing a pink shirt and black suspenders, and the first thing she wondered, however irrationally, was why the show choir circuit seemed to be a veritable breeding ground for suspenders and bowties.

"Hi," he said quietly, leaning against the wall to let other people pass by them.

"Hello." She could see Finn over Jesse's shoulder, standing at the other end of the corridor, waiting to step in if she gave him some kind of signal.

"Good luck today," Jesse almost whispered, his eyes locked with hers.

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "You don't mean that."

"I do," he insisted, reaching out to place his hand on her forearm. "You've worked so hard."

"And you were going to take it all away," she said, eyes trained on the floor. He took a breath and she was sure he was going to say more. "Is that all? I really do need to get back to my warmup."

He leaned in and brushed his lips across her temple. "I hope you win," he whispered.

She was actually laughing when she took a step away. "Now you're just lying."

Walking away wasn't as easy as she made it look.

.....

Her first day of rehearsals, she shows up in Lululemon pants (they're practically uniform for dancers in New York theater rehearsals) and stretches before anyone else is even in the space. The director and choreographer walk in minutes later and both chuckle, joking that they clearly need a female lead who's more dedicated to her role, more eager to learn. Rachel shrugs her shoulder and tightens her ponytail.

She's talking dance steps with Jeanine, the choreographer, and Julia, the woman who'll play Rachel's mother in the show, and he walks in.

Her heart stops for just a moment. Then he smiles and it starts racing approximately 300 beats per minute, a rhythm no one could move to. She doesn't either. He walks to her.

"Rachel Berry," he says, grinning at her as he wraps her in his arms. "Look at you."

"Jesse, what are you doing here?" she asks. "You're...L.A. I thought..."

"Moved last year. I can't properly do musical theater if I'm not in New York, now, can I?" he asks. His eyes are light, teasing, and Rachel thinks she's 16 again.

They're pulled apart before she can ask what role he's playing, hopes to god he's not her love interest.

She gets a sick sense of satisfaction when she learns he's an understudy.

.....

She cried when Finn hoisted their trophy, when the massive bouquet of flowers was laid in her arms. She didn't know how to react to _getting_ something. She'd always_ wanted, wanted, wanted._ She never actually got anything she ever worked hard for. It was foreign, unfamiliar, and _amazing_.

So she stood there in her pretty gold dress with tears on her cheeks and her heart hammering in her chest.

She felt his eyes on her from the other side of the stage as he stood with his second place trophy.

She didn't look at him.

.....

She leaves rehearsal before him as he hangs back and talks with a couple of their cast mates, people he obviously knows.

She looks over her shoulder, (hoping, but not wanting, but wishing, but...) knowing he won't follow her.

He might as well tell her it's her move.

She doesn't know which one to make. Two glasses of wine and a late-night conversation with Kurt don't help her much, either. His advice to _"just do him"_ doesn't help. Her intuition to stay very, very far away from Jesse St. James doesn't help.

She wishes there was something in between.

Friendship?

Maybe that could work.

.....

She fell all the way in love with Finn and didn't look back.

(But there was always that little corner of her heart, still broken because Jesse broke it. She's the kind of girl who thinks you leave little pieces of yourself behind with the people who take them, and you don't get them back unless that person returns them.)

.....

"The elusive Rachel," he says one day, sidling up next to her in practice, arms crossed over his chest over his zippered sweater, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. "You've been avoiding me."

"Shh," she hisses. She's trying to watch one of the female chorus' numbers. "And I have not."

It's not avoiding. She just likes to get to rehearsal and do her work, then leave immediately and go home to run her lines, work on her vocals using the notes she's been given.

Her schedule has nothing to do with the fact that she doesn't necessarily want to be alone with him. And besides, it's only been a week and a half.

"You have. What's the matter? Still mad?" he asks.

There's something different in his voice, like he just needs to know the honest answer so he can apologize for the hundredth time (she's fairly certain she doesn't need it, but it might not hurt), or like he's willing her to say no.

"I don't know," she answers, because it's true. She hasn't thought that much about him over the years, and when she has, she never could decide if she hated him or not. "I'm attempting to focus."

"Come for coffee," he says, looking down at her. She finally glances at him, hair a little shorter than it used to be, bone structure a little more defined, chest broader. "Just coffee."

She agrees before she can stop herself.

(She tells herself she _was_ going to stop herself.)

.....

She saw him once the summer before he left for L.A. She was running late to meet Finn (and she was never late) and stopped to rent a movie, as they'd planned. She had a copy of The Hangover in her hand. It wasn't what she would have chosen, but it was Finn's turn to choose, her turn to pay, and she actually liked their system. The liked that they were a true, honest to goodness couple who did honest to goodness couple things.

"Good choice," he said, walking up behind her. "Not what I'd expect of you."

She didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

She did anyway.

"Finn picked it," she told him. It was petty and childish, but she wanted him to know that she'd moved on, that she was over him.

He chuckled and shook his head. She thought she saw an eye roll in there somewhere, too. "Of course."

She wanted to scream. She wanted to remind him that he had his chance, he could have had her whole heart, but he ruined it all when he lied to her. But then, she'd said all that before, and she wasn't sure it bared repeating.

And if she wasn't going to say that, she didn't really know what to say at all. (So long as he didn't bring up her loss at Nationals, she'd be pleasant throughout the course of this encounter.)

"I leave in two weeks," he said. Her eyes met his. She wondered what he was trying to tell her. He could have walked away without talking to her. She assumed he had some message to get across. "I guess this is it."

"What?" she asked quietly. "This is what?"

He flashed her that grin and leaned over to kiss the apple of her cheek sweetly. "Maybe I'll see you someday, Rachel. Fame is a small world, and we're both destined for it," he said, winking before he walked away.

She hated herself for forgiving him just that little bit more, just because of his faith in her.

.....

She sits on her hands as he sets the cup of coffee in front of her. He's brought her to his favourite coffee shop, his secret place, he says. She doesn't have the heart to tell him she's been coming here nearly twice a week for the past four years. (What? She just likes the Theater District, and she likes knowing she can run into actors and actresses, singers and dancers she's watched on stage from the audience.)

"So, you and Finn?"

She's momentarily shocked by how blunt he's being.

"Finn and I broke up senior year," she explains, trying her best to keep her any and all emotion out of her eyes.

He grins, leans across the table. "I know."

"What?"

"Come on, Rachel. I have my ways. Well, had," he says, smiling smugly.

"You...were you _spying_ on me?" she asks angrily.

"Don't be so dramatic." He rolls his eyes. "God, you're cute." She huffs indignantly, crosses her arms and looks away from him. "Lima's a small town. I know people."

"I don't know whether to be disturbed or flattered," she says. He smiles, eyes shining, and she finally reaches for her coffee. "We remain friends."

"Who?"

She laughs softly, finds herself smiling at him across the table. "Finn and I," she says.

"And you and Puck?" he asks.

"Who in the world have you been talking to!" she cries, just a little too loudly. The woman at the next table shoots Rachel a look. It's one she sees often and it clearly spells out 'crazy.' Jesse just laughs. "Noah and I are a different story."

"Heard you guys dated for years."

"You're genuinely freaking me out now," she says matter-of-factly. "If you have a private investigator, or..."

"Relax," he laughs. "Little do you know that Matt and I kept in touch."

That is a definite surprise. But Matt was basically the only guy in glee club who genuinely befriended Jesse. "Really?"

He shrugs his shoulder. "You and Puck?" he asks.

She thinks he's just trying to feel out the situation, learn whether or not she's over her ex-boyfriend(s) or something.

"We had a...a volatile relationship," she says, toying with the handle on the mug in front of her. "On again, off again. We are very much permanently off, and we have been for nearly two years. Does that placate your curiosity?"

"To a degree," he says, eyes locked with hers over his coffee cup.

She wonders if he wants to ask if she's single anywhere near as badly as she wants to blurt it out.

.....

She could never forget the way he'd appraised her on their first meeting, like she was a prize he had to have.

Finally, someone wanted her and only her. There was no Quinn, no baby, no uncertainty. He just wanted to be with her, pursued her, romanced her.

And then she had to question it all after.

That initial meeting was all a ruse.

The only solace she took in knowing she was never his prize was that she took the prize he was really after.

Her heart most certainly didn't wrench in her chest each time she passed the trophy case at school and saw the shining gold and black gleaming from the other side of the glass.

.....

She uses her cast phone list that's tacked to the inside of her binder (the one containing her rehearsal schedule, script, music, notes, etc.) and calls him.

"Hello?" He sounds confused. She realizes her number is obviously an unknown one.

"If you knew I was with Noah, why would you ask me about Finn?"

It's been eating at her for two and a half days, and they haven't shared a rehearsal since that coffee 'date'. Why in the world would he think she was with Finn if he knew they'd broken up?

There's a pause, a sigh, and she hears the traffic on the street wherever he is.

"Doesn't it always come back to Finn?" he asks.

She waits a moment, answers honestly;

"No, it doesn't."

.....

Their first kiss was electric, sweet and bitter all at the same time, all in the best of ways. He tasted like cinnamon and plain Chapstick, and that amazing smell of an empty auditorium swirled around them as he held her tight against his body. His lips were soft, his hand slipped into her hair, and she just gave herself up to him.

She'd shown him her cards, explained her neurosis, and he'd smiled like she was the most adorable girl on the planet.

She was almost certain he had a hold on her right then and there.

.....

"I owe you a coffee," she says one day as he's slinging his bag across his chest after practice.

He grins at her, raises one eyebrow slightly, and the butterflies in her stomach seem to turn into birds.

"It's been two weeks," he tells her. It's true. She's been fighting herself on this, seeing him twice a week in group rehearsals and trying to pretend she doesn't just want to be alone with him again. "I think I should tack some interest on there, don't you?"

She scowls, but it's mostly playful, as he pushes the door open for her. "I'm sure I could spring for a pastry of some kind."

"Oh, come on now, Rachel," he says, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "I'm not that easy."

She stops walking down the stairs, places her hand on his bicep. He's one stair lower than her when he turns around, putting them at the same height.

And she kisses him.

Cinnamon and plain Chapstick and the smell of an empty staircase.

But she knows it's not nostalgia that has her kissing him again.

"Liar," she teases, smiling as she looks into his eyes. She thinks it's almost sweet that he's actually surprised. "Dinner?"

He doesn't say anything, but he takes her hand and leads her onto the sidewalk. She thinks that's a yes.

.....

The rules in her house were lax to say the least. Her fathers adored Jesse and his sweet demeanor and his obvious (though she'd later question it) feelings for their daughter and his knowledge of show tunes and musicals.

So after a couple weeks, it wasn't really out of the question for Jesse and Rachel to spend time alone in her room with the door closed. And her fathers didn't necessarily seem to mind if Jesse was over when they were out.

"We should do it," he said, hand on her body, just below her breast.

"What?" She hated how surprised she sounded. They were dating, and he was a boy, and he was older and more experienced. The fact that he wanted to have sex should not have come at her out of nowhere.

"It's not a big deal."

He was still kissing her, and she was finding it hard to concentrate, to get out the words even his soft lips and the weight of his body couldn't erase.

"For a girl, it is."

He pulled back, moved off her a little bit, and she felt every bit the scared and insecure girl she tried so hard not to be. There was annoyance on his face; he was looking at her like she was foolish for saying no.

"I'm gonna go."

"Jesse..."

"It's fine, Rachel."

The door closed behind him and she closed her eyes, throwing her head back against the pillow.

She never did tell him how badly that day really hurt her.

.....

Two weeks after their first dinner (which he paid for, despite her protests), she invites him over after rehearsal.

They've kissed here or there, held hands, gone on dates. She hasn't seen his Upper West Side apartment, and he hasn't seen hers. Her fathers bought her a gorgeous one-bedroom during her second year of college, and she's been paying them rent which she is almost certain they're going to turn into her 'down payment' so she can buy the place from them.

She doesn't know why she invites him over. She just wants to.

He keeps telling her how much she's changed, how her confidence is beautiful (his word) and she seems more comfortable in her own skin than she used to. The first time he said it, she just shrugged and told him she'd grown up a lot in the six years since they'd last seen one another.

And six years seems like nearly a lifetime. They're just getting to know one another again.

She still spends an inordinate amount of time just looking at him. (Some things never change.)

She doesn't feel strange, having him in her apartment. He's neat, tidy, lines his shoes up next to hers and hangs his jacket and bag on the coat rack by the door. She's holding his hand as she gives him a little tour, eyes lit up excitedly as she points out her favourite things about the place.

"It's charming," he tells her.

She furrows her brow. "Charming is New York slang for small and cluttered."

He chuckles, pulls her against him. "Not this time. I love it."

"Good," she says as he brushes his lips across her temple.

He's so sweet, so delicate with her, but never too much so. He'll kiss her like this, but his fingertips will be digging into her hips like he doesn't want to let her go. He'll haul her against him if they're waiting at a crosswalk, then weave his fingers together with hers. He'll send her little smiles in rehearsal, then turn jealous the minute she has a romantic scene to play out before him.

She's had the two extremes in her two other boyfriends. Finn was tentative, treated her like she was glass. Noah was all hands and passionate kisses and dirty talk. She didn't hate either.

She's always thought if she could find someone right in the middle, she might have met her match.

(She's never considered the possibility that she might have already met him.)

So when she tries to pull away and Jesse fists the front of her sweater and pulls her back to him, she knows she's smiling when he kisses her. She knows her hand is holding his bicep a little too tightly, and she knows that if she runs her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, he'll let out a noise against her lips.

He pulls her backwards in the direction of the bedroom she just showed him, and she doesn't fight him on it. When he lays her down on the bed, she whines when he pulls away, though she's fighting for breath and aching with want for him. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor before joining her on the bed, pushing them both towards the pillows.

His body is beautiful, toned by his strict diet and workout schedule, dancing, and just good genes. Her hands rest on his hips, thumbs tracing the defined cut there, and he's got his lips fused to her neck as she opens her legs, letting him settle between them.

It's been an embarrassing amount of time since she's done this. But she wants it. So badly.

"Rachel," he mutters, pulling away from her just after slipping his hand beneath her shirt. "Are you sure?"

She thinks it's funny; she's not even naked, not an article of clothing removed, and he's asking if she's sure.

She nods, kisses him. "Please, Jesse."

He groans against her lips, and his hips press against hers, making them both let out sounds. It's silly, but they harmonize, and she thinks there's some kind of magic in that.

"Really?" he asks.

This time she laughs, pushes him away and pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in just the athletic bra top she wears under her sweaters for rehearsals.

"I'm not sixteen anymore," she tells him, arms slipping around his body to rest on his back again.

He looks down at her, toned, gorgeous skin, and takes a breath. "No, you aren't." He dips his fingers beneath the elastic band at the bottom of her bra, eyes locked with hers. "You have no idea how much I've thought about this, Rachel." He shakes his head a little bit, and she drags her fingers along his spine, tucking them into the waistband of the pants he's wearing. He shudders a breath. "Not even just since...since we started this."

She smiles bashfully, bites her bottom lip. He kisses her, takes her lip between his own teeth and nibbles gently. "Really?"

"All these years..." She shifts her hips unintentionally, and he bites back a groan. She adores him a little bit for being patient, for talking when he's obviously aroused and she's obviously telling him she wants him. "You were the one that got away."

She didn't even know people said things like that in real life.

And she thinks he was hers, too.

"You have me now," she promises. The words feel heavy on her tongue as she looks at him. She doesn't want to make this more serious than it is, but given what he's just said, she's fairly certain he's okay with serious. "So have me."

The sweetness doesn't necessarily end there, but the way his body looms over hers is practically intoxicating, and when he slips into her, she gasps at the way their bodies fit together.

She thinks it's kind of perfect, them sleeping together for the first time in the middle of the afternoon with sunlight leaking in through the closed curtains. She can't explain that at all.

Maybe it would have felt perfect no matter what.

.....

"Come on. I'm taking you to breakfast," he announced, walking into her bedroom one Saturday morning.

She was wearing jeans and a plaid button down shirt. Not anywhere near her normal attire.

"Jesse, I'm..."

"Letting your boyfriend take you out for breakfast?" he suggested smoothly.

"I'll just change."

He caught her wrist before she could walk to her closet. "You look beautiful. Just come with me."

She couldn't say no.

He had Lady Gaga playing through his speakers and she knew it was just to tease her. She covered her face with her hands as he laughed and rubbed her back.

"Come on," he said encouragingly. "I thought you looked cute."

"You're a liar," she shot back playfully, their fingers weaving together over the center console.

She didn't notice the way he flinched.

.....

She wakes up to the feel of fingertips tracing patterns on her bare back, turns her head and looks up at him, laying on his side, propped up on his elbow and smiling at her lazily. He presses his palm flat against her naked skin, and she closes her eyes as the warmth seeps into her.

"Good morning," she says quietly. She tries to roll herself over, but he keeps his hand pressed against her, doesn't let her move.

"Hi," he whispers, leaning over to kiss the side of her mouth. "You're adorable when you sleep."

She laughs softly at him, slips her arm beneath her cheek to lift it up a bit. "I talk."

"Now _that's_ surprising," he teases. She reaches over with her free hand and swats at his bare stomach. "You were saying something about toast and strawberry jam. Are you hungry, Miss Berry?"

She smiles and nods her head. After their afternoon/evening/night, she's starving. Cold Chinese at 1:30 in the morning hardly constitutes as a meal.

"I can make us something," she says, sitting up, holding the sheet to her chest. "Do you still like your eggs scrambled with cheddar and green pepper?"

He grins at her, leans up to kiss her. "I can't believe you remember that." He shakes his head and lays back against the pillow as she grabs his tee shirt, pulling it on over the underwear she has on. "God, you're gorgeous. You do know that, don't you?"

She actually blushes. She takes compliments for a living, and he can make her blush.

"Thank you," she says quietly. She looks at him, laying there shirtless, sheets bunched around his hips and one arm behind his head. "You are, too."

"I know," he says with a grin. She tosses his pants at him as she rolls her eyes. "Good thing we're together, then, isn't it?"

She literally runs back over to the bed and lays on top of him, his face in her hands as she kisses him. He's laughing, breath coming out against her skin. She doesn't care.

"We're together," she states. "Just us. Boyfriend and girlfriend."

He smiles at her childlike way of describing it, nods and kisses her. "No games," he adds quietly. "No manipulations."

She thinks she might be picking up right where she left off with him, falling in love a little bit.

.....

He was the first one clapping when she finished her solo, her audition for the opening number at Regionals. She thought it should have been a given anyway, since it was her performance at Sectionals that won them the spot in the upcoming competition in the first place. Last time, Barbra. This time, Celine. She knew she could nail both.

But she was still surprised when Mr. Schuester told her on the spot that the song was hers, that she'd be amazing on that stage and he had every confidence in her.

It shouldn't have caught her off guard. She was the best. (Jesse's performance was bland, not that she told him that, and she wondered all week if it was on purpose. She didn't have the nerve to ask.)

"You were _brilliant_, Rachel," Jesse whispered in her ear when she was sitting next to him again. "I could listen to you forever."

She was starting to believe she might just let him.

.....

Opening night, he doesn't come see her before the show, and she thinks he knows her better than she even assumed.

She needs to focus. She needs the time alone to get into character and channel her energy into her performance. She runs some scales, does some breathing exercises, and reminds herself that she knows this material better than anyone. Knowing he's there actually calms her nerves, too. He's in the chorus. He'll be standing there the whole time, dancing behind her. Sometimes she can pick his voice out of among all the rest.

She's not nervous. She's not.

The spotlight hits and she does what she was born to do.

A standing ovation for her first show always seemed like a bit of wishful thinking on her part. When it actually happens, she's smiling wide enough to hide the tears in her eyes.

Jesse comes to the front of the stage with roses in his hands, and she locks eyes with him as she takes them from him.

The only butterflies she has all night come when he winks at her.

They sleep at his place that night so her fathers can stay at her apartment. They, of course, flew in for a few days.

The moment she's inside the door, she breaks into tears, and he runs a soothing hand down her back. He doesn't question any of it. She's just overwhelmed. She's just...It's all too much.

"You made it, baby," he says, whispering into her ear. "You were so amazing."

"Thank you," she says quietly. She laughs at herself, pulls away and watches him smile as she wipes her cheeks. "I don't know why I'm crying."

He grins, kisses her, and surprises her by lifting her up into his arms, one behind her knees and the other around her back. She squeals and puts her arms around his neck.

"Must be tough to be on top of the world," he says, lips brushing her cheek.

She thinks she might have everything she ever wanted.

Now she'll start worrying about if she's going to lose it. Tomorrow.

Right now, Jesse is laying her down on his bed, unbuttoning his shirt, and all she wants is _him_ to end the evening.

.....

Mr. Schuester wanted to test Jesse's chops (as if they needed testing), so he was given the lead in Somebody To Love.

Rachel felt bad for Finn.

Until Jesse started to sing.

The way she kissed him at his house later that evening had him asking if she was only with him for his talent.

"Of course not," she laughed. "But it helps."

He just smiled, brushed the hair back from her face and kissed the tip of her nose.

.....

When her love interest in Mama Mia has to go out of town for a family emergency, Jesse is called up to fill the role. It's only two shows, since they have the next day off and then Evan will be back, but it's still something.

Performing with him again is amazing. The cast, most of whom have no idea the two of them are anything more than old friends, rave about their chemistry, and Rachel makes a tongue-in-cheek remark about how maybe Jesse is suited for a lead roll instead of just being in the chorus.

"So, you kind of stuck up for me today," he says later when they're walking home after their second show. She just shrugs one shoulder coyly. "Sweet of you."

"You're talented, Jesse. I don't know how you didn't get the lead to begin with. Evan is amazing, we both know that, but you...you _have_ something," she says passionately, waving her arm (the one that isn't hooked through his) animatedly. "You're just...you're so _wonderful_."

He leans over and kisses her temple, drawing his arm away so he can slip it around her shoulders and hold her closer. "Maybe we could conspire," he says sneakily. "Slip Evan a little something? Keep him off stage?"

He's joking, but she knows there's some truth to what he's saying. He wants more. He wants to be the lead in this show. He wants to perform with her every day. He doesn't want to wait until Evan moves on to something else in however many months or years.

"Jesse," she says, turning so she's standing in front of him, snow falling around them.

"It's fine, Rachel," he insists, shrugging one shoulder. "Me being in the chorus is what brought us together."

She leans up on her toes and kisses him. "You're kind of a romantic."

"I do my best, darling," he says as they start walking again.

It scares her to think that, no, he doesn't, that he could do more and make her fall faster.

.....

He didn't call her after the whole Run Joey Run debacle. She couldn't blame him.

She wondered if his heart was really hers to break. She wanted to apologize a million times, kiss him and tell him she wanted him alone, that he was enough.

She wasn't sure why she didn't.

He emailed her one Friday evening when she was doing absolutely nothing (she may or may not have been keeping her schedule clear in the event that he might call) when the message appeared in her inbox.

_Rachel,_

_Going to San Diego with a couple of the guys from Vocal Adrenaline. Spring Break. I'll be back in a week and a half; excused from school. Don't worry. _

_Have a good week._

_Jesse_

It was so formal, so impersonal. She wanted to cry. She wondered how many other people got this email. Did Mr. Schuester get one? His parents? His uncle was the least strict caregiver Rachel had ever met. Surely, he hadn't thought this through. Who in their right mind would let a senior go away and miss a week of school during his final semester of high school? It hardly seemed responsible.

And she focused on that instead of the fact that Jesse didn't bother to call her or come over and tell her face to face.

Everything was so uncertain.

And Rachel hated uncertainty. She wanted to know where they stood, what was going to happen.

She wanted him to be her boyfriend when he came back.

She wanted him to be her boyfriend while he was away, too.

.....

Two months into her (their) run in Mama Mia, Jesse takes a couple days off, claiming to their director, that he's just exhausted.

Rachel knows better. Not just because they spend practically all their time together, but because his conditioning is better than anyone she's ever seen. He's built for eight shows a week for years at a time.

His first day off, she only has one show, a matinee, so she leaves him in her bed and asks him if he'll be there when she returns. He grins and tells her that of course he will. He makes an obscene joke about snooping through her underwear drawer. She's walking out the bedroom door when she reminds him it's nothing he hasn't seen before. She doesn't hear him running up behind her until his arms are around her waist, lips on the side of her neck.

"I'll see you tonight," he mumbles, somehow still managing to find that spot on her neck, kiss it until she's considering calling in sick.

"You will," she says, pulling herself away from him. She kisses him quickly before slipping out the door, making sure none of her neighbours can see the very nearly naked man standing in her foyer.

He has a key to her apartment. She has a key to his. They've been together nearly four months. She's got no doubt in her mind that she's close to saying she loves him.

She thinks she does. It's not just _there_, like it was with Finn. It's not hard, and it doesn't hurt, like it did with Noah. It's realistic with she and Jesse. They've gotten to know one another. They're friends and they trust one another and it's just easy and stable and perfect, and she honestly doesn't think she could find another person who makes her feel like he does.

She gets a call just after the show, a friend of hers calling to say she'd seen Jesse at an audition for Beauty And The Beast.

An audition he didn't tell Rachel anything about.

Now his taking time off makes a little more sense.

She's more hurt than angry when she turns the key in the lock. She thought they told one another everything.

"Hey," he says from where he's sitting on the sofa reading a book.

His smile is so sweet, so happy, that she almost doesn't want to bring it up. She's sure he'll tell her when the time is right.

"Hi."

"Good show?" he asks. She slips off her jacket, kicks off her shoes and runs her fingers through her hair.

"Why didn't you tell me you were auditioning for other shows?" she asks abruptly, hands on her hips as she stands in front of him.

He lets out a sigh. "Who told you?"

"That isn't really the issue," she says. "You should have."

"I'm sorry," he says, standing up and reaching for her wrists, moving her hands so he can set his on her hips. "I just didn't want to tell you unless I had something to tell."

She's not sure what that means or why it makes any difference.

"Well, do you?" she asks. The smile that appears on her face makes her feel a million different things.

"I go for final call backs tomorrow," he says quietly.

"Really?" She can feel her eyes softening, a smile on her lips. She wants to be mad, but it's hard not to be happy for him when he looks so pleased with himself. And he should be, she knows. He nods and she leans up to kiss him. "That's amazing."

She knows it's not as convincing as she wants it to be.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

She hopes he can't see that her mind is working a million miles a minute, thinking of all the terrible things that could come of them being in two different shows at the same time. They work so well now because they're together nearly every minute of the day. She hates change. She doesn't want to think about not seeing him during every show, him taking the subway home with her after her performances.

Everything is going to change. She's just selfish enough to not want it to.

"It's great," she insists. "I'm just worried. What happens when you start rehearsals? You know how taxing those schedules can be. You know how exhausted you'll be at the end of the day."

"I don't even have the part yet," he says. The confidence (_yet_) in his voice doesn't make her feel any better.

She pulls away from him, and walks to the bedroom, still talking (she knows he'll follow). "And, most likely, just as you're finishing your rehearsals, I'll be taking the stage. Our schedules will be completely opposite. We'll never see each other!" she says, eyes wide with worry.

He smirks and shakes his head. "You are _such_ a drama queen."

"I am _not_!"

She's fairly certain the way she flops down on her bed, face first into the pillows, might not be the best way to prove her point.

She feels the mattress dip, and then his hand runs over her back, brushing her hair off her neck, and she peers at him with brown eyes which may or may not be fighting tears.

"Rachel," he says quietly, "it's a job. It's work. Performing. You really think I'd let something like this get in the way of us?"

She sniffles, turns on her side and looks at him. He sounds sincere, he does.

_But_...

"You did before."

He just blinks at her. She thinks she's taken it too far.

They have yet to talk about anything to do with his betrayal. She thought it was just a thing of the past. Something their younger selves dealt with that their older selves had grown out of and gotten over.

Apparently not.

"Really?" he asks indignantly. His hand slips off her body, rests on the mattress, and she feels cold all of a sudden. "You're bringing that up? What happened to you not being sixteen anymore?"

She sits up, narrowing her eyes at him. "Don't you dare imply that I'm immature!"

(She hates him just a little bit for taking something from that beautiful moment, their first time together, and throwing it back in her face.)

"You're implying that I'm trying to sabotage you or something!" he argues.

"I'm merely pointing out a pattern," she says, her voice low and dangerous.

He sighs and shakes his head, looking away from her. "Look, if you want out of this, just tell me, Rachel. I'm not going to be with someone who's already got one foot out the door."

"Where on earth are you getting that idea!" she cries, throwing her hands in the air.

If nothing else, this is just making her realize that she doesn't want to break up with him, doesn't want to be without him. She's become so used to having him around, him being in her space, making her laugh, getting ice for her aching ankles after a tough show. She can't imagine a New York (and by default, her life) now without him in it. It's scary to think she depends on him, _wants_ him, that much.

"You're being selfish," he says quietly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. "You want me to stay in the background of a production so I can be near you, instead of me getting my own role and trying to have what you have." She opens her mouth, but he cuts her off. "I didn't come to New York to be an understudy, Rachel." He stands up and shakes his head. "I thought you knew me better than that."

She doesn't stop him when he leaves the room, doesn't go after him when she hears the click of the front door.

She _does_ know him.

Maybe _he's_ the one who wants the out.

.....

She was frozen in place when he told her the truth. Her breathing got all uneven and laboured and the lump in her throat made it hard to think. She could feel the tears on her cheeks, even if she didn't remember them falling.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," he said quietly, reaching for her hand. She jerked it away sharply. "I didn't mean for it to go this far. I didn't...I honestly do care about you."

She shook her head, watched as tears fell from her face onto her skirt. "How could you do this to me?" she asked as loudly as her voice would allow at the moment, which wasn't very loud at all. "How could you do this to anyone? Me or anyone else? How could you...You're heartless."

"Rachel, please, I..."

She stood from her place and backed away from him. The desperate, pleading look on his face did nothing to change her mind about him.

"I don't want to hear anything more. I can't. I know what I need to know."

"I'm sorry." He walked towards her and she backed up, putting her hands up between them, shaking her head. "Rachel."

"Just go," she said, eyes meeting his. "We're _through_. Just please go."

He left.

She broke down.

She lost her mother and her boyfriend all in one day. One person shouldn't have to deal with that much loss all at once.

.....

It's two days before she sees him again. She called once, asked her to call him back, and he texted her to let her know that he was preparing for his audition and he'd talk to her soon.

He's coming out of their director's office at the theater when she's on her way to her dressing room. She feels a little breathless just seeing him. She wants him so badly. She doesn't want them to be fighting. She wants to apologize, maybe get one, too. She just wants her boyfriend back.

"Hi," she says once they're in front of one another.

"Hi." He immediately leans forward and kisses her forehead, so she thinks they might just work this out. "Do you have a minute?"

She nods and leads him into her dressing room, and they both set their bags on the chair near the door. As soon as she knows the door is closed behind him, she turns and starts talking.

"I'm so sorry, Jesse. You were right. I was being selfish. It was wrong of me to make it about me. Your success...Goodness, Jesse, it's just as important to me as my own. I just want you to be..."

"Rachel," he chuckles. He takes her face in his hands and brushes the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have just left like that."

"I overreacted. I want you to be as big a star as I am." He raises his brow and she pauses. "Well, maybe not as big as me, but _big_."

"Good," he says. She narrows her eyes questioningly when he gets this little smile on his face. "Because you are looking at The Beast."

Her eyes go wide and she grabs the front of his shirt. "Are you serious!" He laughs and nods. "Oh my god! Congratulations!" She throws her arms around him and he lifts her up off the floor. "I'm so happy for you."

She realizes she's crying when he pulls away and rolls his eyes, wiping her tears with his thumbs.

"I just told Morris. He's going to find a replacement chorus boy," he says. "Rehearsals start in two weeks."

She shakes her head, blows out a breath, and he kisses her hard. If they didn't have a show to do right now, she'd drag him back to her apartment. But she should already be in costume and he needs to get warmed up. She just doesn't want to let him go.

"Are we okay?" she asks.

He kisses her one last time. "Better than." She lets out a quiet sigh of relief. She pulls away, unzips her sweater and tosses it aside. "Hey, Rachel?"

"Yes?" she asks, unzipping the fly of her jeans. She tries to move behind the screen in the corner of the room, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her back to him.

"I'm in love with you," he says.

She almost laughs at how nonchalant he makes it sound, like it's just another thing they say all the time, not something he's saying for the first time ever.

And there are tears in her eyes again.

"Why are you telling me all this right before I have to go on stage!" she cries laughingly. "You know my complexion has to be flawless."

"You're such a diva," he says fondly, shaking his head. "And it would be really nice if you might possibly..."

"I love you, too," she interrupts, gripping his shirt at his sides. "I do. So much."

"Good." His voice is soft, low, and just like it usually is right before he takes her clothes off. She wonders if it's too late to call her understudy. "Don't get any ideas," he teases, pulling her against him, cradling her against his chest.

"I can't believe I have to go pretend to be in love with someone else right now," she pouts.

"You do it every night," he reminds her. He pats her hip gently. "You're a professional."

She holds her chin up a little bit. He's right. "I am."

"Go be amazing, Rachel. I'll see you out there."

She nods, watches as he walks out of the room, and hopes he doesn't hear her little squeal of happiness as soon as the door is closed.

(He does.)

.....

He told her he wanted to make all her dreams come true.

She wasn't naive enough to think she didn't need a little help.

(She couldn't decide, then, if it was because of him or in spite of him that she took that stage at Regionals and gave the best performance of her life.)

.....

They're in her bedroom with the window open, curtains blowing and cool air coming in. She's wearing nothing but his tee shirt, straddling his back as he lays on the bed and she runs her hands over his skin. He's apparently been learning new choreography for three days and his body is a little tired. He, of course, blames her for wearing him out even more, but that was most certainly a mutual decision.

"You should move in," she says out of nowhere.

He laughs, tilts his head to look at her. "We said I love you once and now you think we should live together?"

She kneads his shoulders a little too hard and he hisses, moving swiftly onto his back, sending her onto her bottom next to him.

"What's wrong with us living together? You practically live here anyway. You'd be just saving money on rent."

"And I'd get to see you every spare second of my day," he says, a gleam in his eye. She isn't entirely sure if he's teasing her or not. Sometimes she just can't tell.

"Another bonus."

He laughs again and props himself up on his elbows. "You really are something else," he says.

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment," she says, he reaches for her arm, pulling her towards him. She straddles his lap again. Her hands run down his chest, and his come to rest on her thighs.

"Alright. I'll move in." She feels the rumble of his laughter against her as she throws herself down on him, hugging him as tightly as she can when they're both laying down. "We're going to be amazing, you know that?"

"We already are," she mumbles against his neck.

"New York royalty," he states. She bites her lip before she kisses him. "Broadway. Tonys. Money. Fame." She smiles and swears her heart is (literally) beating to exactly the same rhythm as his. "Can you think of anything else you want?"

She giggles a little too girlishly and closes her eyes. "Not at the moment, no," she says as his hands push up her shirt. "But I'll keep you posted, as that is subject to change."

He chuckles low in his chest and kisses the side of her mouth.

"You do that, Miss Berry."

They both know she would have either way, whether he told her to or not.


End file.
